Monday, January 23, 2012

I’ve lived with Liz for two months now and, in the last two months, one thing has become very apparent to me: there is absolutely no similarity to how we live our lives other than we do our laundry in the same washing machine and we both drink skim milk and have the same grandma.

I am aware that I am very go-go-go-go but living with Liz has really shined a light on how compulsively active I am. And what a homebody Liz tends to be.

Liz works her ass off. She works long hours for a big company in an important position. Her commute is an hour each way. And when she’s not at work, she is at home. She obviously likes to be at home. Because she never leaves. I’m not judging – I swear that I’m not judging – but it isn’t unusual for Liz to get home on a Friday night and settle in for the weekend and, other than a Sunday trip to the grocery store, not leave the house.

And that is c-c-c-c-c-c-crazy to me.

I can’t do that. I don’t have it in me.

Like, I look at Liz all stretched out on the couch on a Saturday afternoon and in my head I am like OMG HOW CAN YOU DO THAT JUST LAYING THERE AND NOT EVEN, LIKE, SIMULTANEOUSLY BALANCING YOUR CHECKBOOK OR KNITTING A HAT?

I woke up yesterday embracing the idea of a lazy Sunday morning. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. “This is what normal people do,” I told myself. I fixed a cup of tea and I crawled back into bed and I got right to business finishing the book that I was reading because I wanted to cross that goal off of my list. I wanted to accomplish that task. Before noon. And I also wanted to get all of my bills paid because I was sick of thinking of it and, goodness, that’s what a lazy Sunday is about, right? Getting things done? It’s called lazy because you’re still wearing your pajamas, yes?

Heaven forbid I actually relax. I certainly didn’t earn the right to relax. Oh, no. The weekend wasn't busy at all.

I worked all day on Friday. Immediately after work I went to visit Lucy and the baby. Immediately from Lucy’s house I went to a bachelorette party for one of Meg’s best friends – I just went to dinner, but I didn’t get home until after midnight. I collapsed into bed and not long after I fell asleep The Coach wakes me up to update me on his team’s game. I talked to him for quite a while (he was displeased with the results and venting accordingly) and didn’t get back to sleep until who knows when.

Up early on Saturday morning to cut up massive amounts of fruit and vegetables for Heather’s bridal shower. Clean up the enormous mess I made in the kitchen. Breakfast. Dress and tights and heels. Hair and makeup. Present wrapping. Coffee on my way out the door. To Heather’s shower a few hours early, helping her mom and sister set up. Then the baby shower. So many games. So many pictures. And then the cleaning up after the baby shower. Finally back home. I observe Liz sleeping on the couch. Decide to take a quick nap of my own (this is somewhat monumental) before going to the gym. Decide against the gym – cook dinner instead. Hang with Liz on the couch for all of 30 minutes. Talk to Meg on the phone. Read my book. Check the score of The Coach’s game. Get to bed just after midnight. Awakened by The Coach, updating me on his game. (I absolutely love when he does this because it makes me feel like so much more of a part of his life – even though it is thousands of miles away. And because it makes me quite sure that he knows that I care about what he is doing there and how he is doing there.)

So, no. Clearly I didn’t earn the right to just hang out on Sunday morning. Especially when Sunday evening featured a hockey game and a soccer game. Please. Productivity is where it is at.

Liz must think that I am completely insane.

Liz must also think that I am the best roommate ever. All I do at that house is sleep.

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comments:

Hmm...I think I fall in the middle between y'all two, so I can relate to both. Life has been 100% go go go go go lately, but I can also spend a whole weekend never getting out of pjs or leaving the house and be totally content.

I had a drink with my summer roommates a few weeks ago. Nice enough people but we have little in common. I made some comment about having to get up early the next morning to run and the female of the couple says "Oh yeah, running. I forgot that you do that a lot. Like everyday..." Ummmm, yeah, sorry I don't sit on the couch from the moment I get home from work until the time I go to bed...

Hi. I'm A.

Born, raised, educated in the Midwest, I am such a Midwesterner. So Midwestern, if you will.

I am: a blogger of 8+ years, forever searching for my next athletic challenge, hopelessly overscheduled and always, always eating.

I started So Midwestern right after I graduated from college, hoping to chronicle my transition to adulthood. Graduate school, four half marathons, two new nephews, three apartments, a trip to Africa, a sprinkle of heartbreak, dozens of unfinished knitting projects, four turns as a bridesmaid, 8,913 job applications and two full-time positions later: I’m fairly convinced that the day when I feel like a legitimate, full-fledged grownup will never come. So I’ll just keep on blogging.

I write about a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. Toss my ramblings with a few pictures, a touch of swearing and an endless appreciation for the beauty that is David Beckham and you have So Midwestern. Welcome.